


Good Enough

by musicprincess1990



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Molly's birthday, Post-TFP, Romance, Sherlock Goes to Sweden Alone, Teensy Bit of Angst, Very Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 14:57:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15687726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicprincess1990/pseuds/musicprincess1990
Summary: “I don’t deserve you, Molly Hooper. Probably never will. But if you'll let me, I would like to try.” It's Molly's birthday, and Sherlock has a gift for her.





	Good Enough

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a quote on Tumblr, which I’ve used in this fic (with some bits of emphasis and minor grammatical changes added by me), and it immediately brought this to mind. Also, as much as I LOVE Sweden!lolly, for this fic, it felt more appropriate to go a different direction. Anyways, happy reading!

Another post-mortem, another stack of paperwork, another day in the life of Molly Hooper, specialist registrar. But it wasn’t just any day today; it was her birthday.

Not that she expected anything special, really. Thirty-seven years was nothing to crow about. Besides, there weren’t many who even knew about her birthday. Her parents both lay in the London cemetery, and she was an only child. She had a few cousins, on her mum’s side, but they rarely spoke. And the few friends who knew her birthday weren’t really the gift-giving type. Well, Meena was, but she had a four-month-old to take care of, which would put Molly low on her list of priorities. And John was still grieving the loss of his wife. She certainly couldn’t blame him for that. Mary had been her friend, and she ached just thinking about her, and about the broken family she’d left behind.

And Sherlock…

Molly didn’t know  _ what _ to expect from Sherlock. She’d not seen or heard from him in several weeks. He hadn’t even offered an explanation. Instead, it fell to Mycroft to inform her of the horrors they’d faced that day. She couldn’t help feeling he’d glossed over a few details, but what he did give was enough to soften her heart a bit toward him, and his absentee brother. Of course, she’d known something was wrong, the undertone of panic in his voice during the call had told her as much. And Mycroft’s explanation had filled in the rest of the blanks.

Even so, that didn’t explain why he hadn’t told her all of this himself. Why he’d disappeared without a trace, not even telling John where he’d gone. All she could get out of him or Mycroft was that he’d taken a “well-deserved break.” Some small, embittered part of her thought that incredibly selfish of him. Didn’t she deserve a break, too? But no, here she was, working through her birthday, because… because what else was she going to do?

Sighing quietly to herself, Molly finished sewing up the Y-incision on Mr. Donahue’s chest, and buried herself in her work. As always.

Hours later, while she was packing up to leave for the day, Mike Stamford came in with a smile and a small parcel in hand.

“Evening, Molly,” he greeted cheerfully. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, then gestured to the parcel. “You didn’t have to do anything for me.”

His grin widened. “Actually, I didn’t. This came for you earlier, but I was instructed not to give it to you until you were about to leave. And,” he added, “to tell  _ you _ not to open it until you get home.”

Molly frowned, bewildered. “What? Who sent it?”

“There’s no card, and the messenger didn’t leave a name,” he shrugged, still grinning. “Must be a secret admirer.”

_ Or a certain detective trying to butter me up _ , she thought moodily. Forcing a tight smile, she took the offered package. “Thanks,” she said again. “Good night, Mike.”

Molly shoved the gift into her bag, her mood worsening the closer she got to home. It had to be from Sherlock, no one else would go to such measures of secrecy. She was almost afraid of what might be inside the little wrapped box. But mostly, she was angry, for she doubted it held any sort of explanation for his absence. And even if it did, judging by the box’s size, it was rather a paltry one.

At long last, she reached home, and discarded her purse and coat by the door. She was almost tempted to leave the infernal gift where it was, just to spite him, but curiosity won the draw, and she fished it out of her bag. As she walked toward the kitchen, she turned it over in her hands, looking for some sort of clue. It was wrapped in rather drab, brown paper, tied with ordinary string. Slowly, she opened it, lifting the lid to reveal… a  _ necklace? _

Molly stared in amazement, lifting it from its resting place. It was… well, it was quite lovely, actually. A dainty, silver chain, with a very detailed, anatomically correct heart pendant, about as big as her thumbnail. Certainly not something she would have expected from Sherlock, but it made her smile, despite the frustration still simmering just below the surface. She moved to return it to its box, and noticed a card resting at the bottom. She picked it up, and read:

> “Here you are, so full of goodness, and the arms you crave do not hold you; and you blame yourself, you think it is because you aren’t enough. Stop. This isn’t true. You see, the truth is, you are  _ so _ enough, and  _ so _ good, that not everyone was built to deserve you. Not everyone has the capacity to understand the magnitude of your  _ enough _ .”
> 
> – Nikita Gill

Tears welled in her eyes as Molly swallowed the lump in her throat. “Dammit, Sherlock,” she whispered to herself with another reluctant smile.

“Not quite the reaction I’d anticipated.”

She gasped and whirled around to find the man himself stood in the doorway, resplendent in his usual tailored suit and Belstaff, and  _ damn him _ , he’d worn the purple shirt. Molly breathed deeply to compose herself. It didn’t help much.

“Where have you been?” she asked.

“Sweden, mostly,” he said off-hand, “but a few other places. Amsterdam. Copenhagen. A brief sojourn into Russia.”

“Why?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Needed to think.”

“You couldn’t do that in London?”

“No,” he shook his head. “For the first time in recent memory, London felt entirely too noisy, too crowded. I had a great deal to process, and that required… quiet. Solitude.”

She considered him carefully, and then noticed the subtle changes. A bit of color to his typically chalk-white skin, a softness to his features that suggested he’d actually eaten three full meals a day. Molly had a hard time imagining Sherlock Holmes on holiday, doing normal  _ on-holiday _ things, but it seemed he’d done just that.

“Well,” she began after a pause, “since you’re back, I suppose you’ve finished processing?”

“Mm,” he nodded once.

She glanced down at the card and necklace still in her hands. “And… this?” she asked simply, meeting his eyes again.

He looked thoroughly pleased with himself, hints of a smile curling the corners of his lips. “It’s your birthday, Molly.”

“I’d noticed,” she deadpanned. “But you don’t do birthdays.”

“I  _ didn’t _ do birthdays,” he corrected. “However, I’ve recently come to learn that every year spent alive and well on this earth is worth celebrating. Cherishing, even.” He hesitated a moment, and she caught the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. “Particularly if it’s another year of  _ your _ life.”

Molly bit her lip in an attempt to ward off further tears. “Dammit, Sherlock,” she muttered again, without any malice. “Would you stop being so lovely? I’m trying to be angry with you!”

He gave her a smug grin and stepped closer, coming within arm’s reach. “I want you to know that I meant it,” he said softly. “I didn’t know it until I’d said it… didn’t fully understand it until a few days ago, alone in a hotel room in Stockholm.” His eyes lowered in uncharacteristic shyness, before landing on hers again, this time burning with intensity. “I don’t deserve you, Molly Hooper. Probably never will. But if you'll let me, I would like to try.” He paused again, drawing another breath, and letting it out slowly. “I love you, Molly.”

Molly's answering smile threatened to split her face in two. Without warning, she threw her arms around his neck, his winding instinctively about her waist. After a moment, his hold on her tightened, became almost desperate, and he buried his nose in the crook of her neck.

“I love you too, Sherlock,” she murmured in his ear. “More than you know.”

She felt more than heard his quiet laugh. “I'm beginning to understand for myself.” He was quiet for a moment, still holding to her for dear life, then spoke again in a more serious voice, “You’ll have to be very patient with me.”

Molly released his neck, leaning back to meet his eyes. His vice-like grip remained, keeping her within a few inches of him. The proximity made her light-headed, but she forged ahead through the fog, placing a hand on his face to ground herself. “Lucky for you, I’m very good at being patient.”

The look he gave her was so tender, so full of love, she nearly burst into a fresh wave of tears. Instead, she closed the space between them with a gentle kiss to his perfect lips. He responded eagerly, his hands roaming her back and shoulders, while hers moved up to tangle themselves in his hair.

They still had much to discuss, many unresolved issues. There would likely be many arguments, nights of tears and shouting, but also of soft whispers and gentle, soothing touches. But all of this could wait. For tonight, nothing else mattered. Tonight, they had only each other. And that was enough.


End file.
